Acceptance
by FlightFeathers
Summary: A departure leads to a change. A change both Nancy and Joe find hard to cope with. Especially Joe. Nancy tries to make him see and believe, even when she can't herself. Joe tries to keep her alive, even when he can't live himself. Frank didn't think a case could get out of control; Nancy and Joe knew it would. What did Nancy and Joe do then? And where did that leave them?
1. Denial

**Hi! This is my first fanfic, guys! I hope you will enjoy it. :)**

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Chapter # 1: _Denial_

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_23rd November, 2012:_

Joe stared. Just stared on. He did not understand why Nancy was deathly pale; why his father was holding his mother around the waist and making cooing noises; why his aunt was shaking uncontrollably on her seat and sobbing in her hands.

Why were they mourning? What had transpired to make them feel this way? Why couldn't _he_ understand? Was he the only one standing there and fighting the voices in his head that were pushing him to accept reality? His insides screamed, "_No!_" His heart denied it. But there was this feeling… this feeling that told him something he didn't want to embrace: "Denial won't lead you anywhere. Accept it." It was lying. It was a lie. But oh! This feeling was familiar. Too familiar. This feeling was what he acted upon almost every time. But did he want to nod his head and give in? Well – Joe wasn't the one to just _give up_.

So he just stood and watched. Watched his mother cry on her husband's shoulder. His father, who had put on a strong, brave front, had unshed tears in his eyes, which he would blink away hurriedly. And Aunt Gertrude was still trembling.

His eyes then fell on Nancy. It was as if all the color had been drained from her face. She was rocking back and forth. What surprised him was that she was not crying. She had her head in her hands and swayed nonstop. How did he know that she was not crying? He could tell by her posture. Her body wasn't racking with sobs. And he just _knew_. Like he knew every time when it came to her. When it came to _Nancy_.

Joe could tell that she was praying, like he was inside. It was a sort of relief that someone else hadn't given up hope.

Joe felt tired. All of this was too much. Wrapping his head around the facts was exhausting. He wanted to sit down and relax. But he knew that relaxing would be impossible for him presently. So he sat down on the floor and ignored the noise. He sighed wearily. He stood up and went upstairs.

The nineteen year old Hardy entered his room and jumped into his bed. He tried to wash away every worry from his mind for the time being. He closed his eyes, intending to stay like that for only two minutes. Then he changed his mind to five. Then ten. Then fifteen. And this slowly turned into a nine hour sleep.

* * *

Joe woke up with a jolt. The noise downstairs woke him up. He could hear loud exclamations. Joe ran downstairs and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Joe! Joseph! He is gone forever! He is gone! I can't – I can't… This can't _be_! I don't… They are lying, aren't they, Joe? Tell me! Say something! You were the closest to him! You must know if he is alive! Say something!" Nancy's eyes were huge with anxiety and hope only a child could keep hold of in a hard situation like _this_.

But what could he say? His tongue weighed a ton. He couldn't lift it, twist it. _He couldn't form_ _words_.

Nancy grabbed his shoulders. He was her last hope. He was what her expectations were clinging on to. "_Please!_ Tell me, Joey," she said, this time more slowly, her voice barely a whisper, "he is alive, isn't he?"

It was evident that Nancy was in deep denial. And Joe knew he was, too. But he couldn't lie in a situation like this. His guts, brain – his _bones_, told him that no, it was silly not to accept reality. But his heart told him,_ no, it _is_ silly to accept reality; it is in fact destroying, torturing, killing and _losing_ oneself_.

The words spilled out of his mouth with that _cursed_ uncertainty: "I don't know." Upon hearing this sentence, Nancy gasped and was thrown off-balance. Joe caught her just in time and led her to the couch. Nancy rested her head on Joe's shoulder and did not cry at first. She just stared on, just like he did a few hours ago. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion. They were just blank and hollow. Tears welled up in her clear blue eyes as reality unveiled itself to her. And suddenly, she let escape a loud wail and cried. Her head dug deeper into his shoulder and he could feel her tears soaking his shirt. Her whines were muffled. (It was uncomfortable, really, his wet shirt.)

Joe didn't do anything to soothe Nancy's pain. He just put his arm around her shoulder and squeezed her to him.

Time passed. Nancy's whimpers and tears slowly subsided. All the crying had triggered a headache. The warmth Joe's body was providing her made her feel drowsy and her eyelids drooped due to that. She wanted to shut herself out from this cruel world. Slowly, her quick breathing turned into deep breaths.

Joe felt Nancy's tense muscles relax and could hear her breathe deeply. He looked to his right and saw Nancy was asleep. Joe looked around. His mother and father had gone to their room while he was comforting Nancy. And Aunt Gertrude was probably somewhere alone for some peace and quiet so she could drown herself in her grief and cry a river.

Joe looked at the peaceful form next to him and decided to pick her up and take her to Frank's once-room.

He laid her down on the bed and covered her with a quilt. He switched on the lamp because he… he… He didn't know why himself. Joe figured that she might be afraid after what had happened. He looked around the room. Frank's room had remained untouched for who knew how long. And Joe, after so much time, finally got to look, actually _look_, at the whole place.

_Frank really is a neat freak_, Joe thought with a smile. Sometimes it was hard to believe that Frank was his brother. He was an orderly person, and Joe was the complete opposite. "Not _is_, was," muttered Joe as his smile faltered.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't just keep his distress bottled up inside him. Joe's chest felt heavy and it felt as if something was trying to escape. He let out a howl. A howl a pained animal would give. He let his tears fall freely and without hesitation.

Joe wasn't crying for the loss of his brother. No, no, no, no, _no_. Joe cried for something better. For Frank's death to be a joke – no matter how cruel and horrible. He cried for things to be a nightmare, and to wake up and to climb next to Frank in his bed and let his older brother lull him to sleep and assure him that he won't ever, ever leave him, and wasn't planning to leave him anytime soon. Oh, what was he _thinking_? Frank had a new home now. A new life. A new life with his _wife_, Nancy. _But he is not living that new life. Not _now_. Not_ ever_. It was once upon a time a hundred years back_, Joe corrected himself.

And his pain increased. He cried more. A whimper made its way out of his mouth. _My best friend won't leave me. Frank wouldn't_ dare_!_

Joe hit his head against the wall lightly, and tried to control himself. He took deep breaths to calm himself down and gave a shuddering sigh.

Joe was determined that he wouldn't believe a word of what everyone said about his brother's death, no matter how his belief was baseless.

_I am Joe Hardy, and I don't give up._

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**So how was it? Was it good? (And please forgive any grammar mistakes I made because English is not my native language.) Please! Review! And constructive criticism is always welcome. :D**


	2. Questions

**Sorry for the long wait! Here is chapter two.**

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Chapter # 2:_ Questions_

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_6th November, 2012:_

Joe finally arrived.

He was having his beauty sleep, which failed _again_, because _someone_ didn't want him to rest peacefully. Nancy happened to be that certain someone. She had called him early in the morning. As soon as he accepted the call, he told her that if it was her idea of getting back at him after that time when he had "accidentally" spilled some orange juice on her, she should quit it, because it was _definitely_ not working; she, instead of answering him, told him to come meet her and Frank at their place right then. When he asked her what had happened, she had already hung up.

He didn't bother to change his clothes; he simply grabbed his car keys, and practically fled to his brother's house. (Well, he _did_ try not to cross the speed limit.)

He was so angry that he swore that he could feel steam coming out of his ears. (But that would be plain exaggeration because he wasn't _that_ angry. He was just annoyed.)

So here he was, right at _her_ service. That devil!

Why was he vexed again? Oh yeah, his sleep had been interrupted, and now he had these bags under his eyes, making him look like a zombie. What will his date even say?! _She won't have the chance to say anything because she won't recognize me. The wonders of looking less handsome._ Joe didn't allow the word "bad" cross his mind, because he was absolutely positive that day would never arrive.

He rang the doorbell and stood there, waiting. No one came out. He rang it again. Still no one came out. So he just decided to try the door.

It was locked.

Not the least bit shocking. Lack of sleep wasn't allowing his brain to function properly. _Which the precious and intelligent little Nancy is unaware of_, thought Joe bitterly.

He rang the doorbell again, this time he pressed the button a bit harder, and for a longer time. The cold air was numbing his bare arms. His thin shirt did nothing to help block out the cold. This was adding to his anger.

It had been quite a while standing out here in the cold. Nancy would never take this long, surely. Now he was starting to worry. His chest felt heavy. He hoped nothing was wrong. He felt a bit selfish for getting annoyed at Nancy.

After what felt like hours, Joe faintly heard voices coming from inside the house getting louder and louder, as if two people were arguing. His worries soon died.

He looked at his watch. He had been standing here for more than thirteen minutes. He didn't know why Nancy was taking so much time opening the door. The voices were even louder. And they stayed like that. Joe ran a hand through his hair restlessly.

"Are you guys dead?! If not, then open up, because it is freezing out here!" he was about to scream. He also planned to add a dramatic effect by banging on the door.

But Nancy put a halt to his actions by suddenly materializing in front of him.

"Hi!" she welcomed. She was a bit out of breath and there was a faint pink tainting her cheeks.

All his anger seemed to melt away when he saw her sweet smile. He forgot the cold. He smiled in response. He had this evanescent feeling of disappointment when she didn't hug him like she always did.

Nancy frowned at his appearance. His hair was messy, his shirt was wrinkled, he wasn't wearing anything warm, and his eyes were red. Her eyes wandered over his figure.

"What?" Joe finally asked, getting a bit irritated.

"What do you mean by 'what'?" Nancy imitated his bored voice. "Joe, why haven't you properly covered yourself? You will get yourself sick! And have you even looked at your eyes?!" She held his face in her hands, looking at him thoroughly.

"I know they are beautiful, you don't have to remind me, Nan." Joe fluttered his eyelashes.

"I didn't mean that!" The alarming expression on Nancy's face made Joe smirk.

"You don't have to deny it, Beautiful. Just admit I am irresistible." He looked impossibly smugger.

"Joe Hardy! That's my wife you are flirting with!" Frank – who, just a second ago, was leaning against the wall, and now had his arm around Nancy's waist protectively – exclaimed in mock horror.

Joe couldn't believe that Frank's presence had gone unnoticed by him.

"Aw, Frank, no need to get all over-protective. You know your wife doesn't appreciate your over-protectiveness. Am I right, Nancy?" Joe looked at her.

"I'm afraid you are wrong, Joe." She pinched his left cheek. Joe winced, pouting.

"Frank, don't jump to conclusions, it was just a harmless appreciating-Joe-Hardy's-looks talk." He shrugged.

Frank gave him an old-fashioned look.

"What's with the look, bro?" Joe asked. "Is this how you greet your long-lost brother?" He stopped for a moment. He tapped his chin with his finger, and scrunched up his face, as if contemplating something. Both Nancy and Frank looked curiously at him. Joe nodded quickly and spoke his thoughts out loud: "No, 'long-lost' doesn't sound appropriate, considering the situation. It is better to say, 'Is this how you greet your long-_forgotten_ brother?' Yeah, that sounds more like it."

Frank threw him a disapproving look once more. He grabbed Joe's right hand and gave it a firm shake before walking off.

Nancy stared at her husband's retreating figure thoughtfully. Looking back at Joe again, she continued from where they had left off: "You didn't get enough sleep, did you?"

"Yeah, because _someone_ thought it was convenient to wake me up at six in the morning!" Joe could feel the melted anger building up inside him yet again. He looked at Nancy: she was shocked. Her shock was immediately replaced by fury.

"Well, I am sorry for waking you up, but it was urgent, Mister!" Nancy cried.

"Then why don't you tell me what's going on?!" Joe questioned.

"No! I don't think I should tell you because you need to _sleep_! It is better if you go and rest peacefully!"

"I don't think I can rest now because you broke that peace thirty minutes ago!" He pointed at his watch.

"You have been counting time now! Ugh!"

"So what if I have! You should be proud that I keep track of time!" He flailed his arms about. He prepared himself for a fiery retort. But Nancy didn't answer; she only stared at him.

He tilted his head and gauged Nancy's facial expressions. The corners of her mouth were twitching a bit.

Joe managed an unintelligible "Wha…?"

Unexpectedly, Nancy burst out laughing. Joe gawked at her.

"You can be funny when you are angry," she managed between fits of laughter.

"And how is that?" Joe was getting confused. Nancy just shook her head as an answer and continued to laugh (and say something, but her statement remained unfinished as it dissolved into another laugh), which was slowly turning into small giggles.

"It doesn't mean I am talking to you again, Joe," Nancy said, finally composing herself.

"You know," Frank began (he had been observing Nancy and Joe as they bickered), "both of you can be so confusing sometimes."

* * *

The hot water fell over him. The steam eliminating from the water was making him sweat, but it did well in soothing his tense muscles.

Joe was feeling fresh.

He didn't rest, as Nancy had commanded him to (unkindly at that). He just took a long shower, which was sufficient enough to wake him up. He was wearing Frank's clothes. He figured that his brother wouldn't mind. (He _knew_ he wouldn't.) Whistling, Joe jogged downstairs. He went to the kitchen; he didn't have anything for breakfast.

But as he neared the kitchen, he heard raised voices. He had this feeling that something was up. When he came here, he had heard loud voices, like someone was arguing. And now, the same was being reiterated.

He followed the voices and found them in the garden. Nancy was red in the face, and Frank was stiff, meaning he was angry. There was unmistakable – and unpalatable – tension in the air.

"Frank, this is not the way!" Nancy yelled – almost. "You can't just…" Nancy bit her lower lip. "Go away like that!"

"Nancy, could you please stop it?" Wow, Joe had never heard Frank use this tone with her.

"No, I won't," she huffed.

Both were still glaring at each other.

He thought of something to break the silence.

Joe cleared his throat loudly to get their attention. Frank and Nancy's head snapped towards the new sound.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, guys! The whole town can hear you."

"Sure, Joe," Nancy said, rolling her eyes. He chose to ignore it.

"Nancy, I really think something is up. So, I guess that's why you wanted me here."

"Yay! Joe Hardy finally figured something was wrong." Nancy clapped her hands, feigning excitement.

"Nancy, answer the question," Joe said through gritted teeth.

"What question? Did he ask any question?" Nancy nudged Frank. He didn't answer. She forcefully brought his head down so that his mouth was close to her ear.

"He says no." Nancy widened her eyes and nodded, letting her poor husband (his head, to be more precise) go.

Joe licked his lips, looking disgruntled. "Okay, if that's how you want to act, I'll ask you again: Why did you want me here?"

"Because I did." Nancy smiled a fake smile.

"Why, may I ask?"

"Ask your brother." She jerked her head towards Frank's direction. Then, she strode past Joe, hitting his shoulder with hers a bit painfully – and purposefully – along the way.

"Ouch!" he yelped. After a few seconds, he snorted. "You know what?" he called out. "I don't really care that you don't care about my pain!"

"Sure, Joe!" Nancy repeated the same statement she said a while ago, and walked inside the house.

Joe raised an eyebrow. "What's up with her?"

Frank shook his head and said, "Like you don't know." Then he, too, walked past him.

Joe slowly turned his head and stared over his shoulder at Frank's retreating figure with an open mouth.

Now both his eyebrows were raised. He looked up at the bright sky helplessly, and said: "What's up with _both_ of them?"

And then he – just like Frank and Nancy – walked inside the house (only that there wasn't anyone he could march past, much to his dismay).

* * *

Joe didn't know what to do. He was here for two hours, but still he wasn't informed why he was here. Frank was out.

Frank.

Frank was being grumpy. Grumpy and Frank – well, they didn't mix. Grumpy wasn't part of Frank's equation. He had to ask Nancy about it. But first, he needed some information. (He had this feeling that Frank's grumpiness was partially the reason he was here.)

He and Nancy needed to have a serious –

Hey, where _was_ Nancy?

Joe got up from the couch and went to the kitchen, expecting to find her there. But she wasn't there. Kitchen was out of the question then.

He went upstairs. Upon reaching her room, he knocked on the door.

"Come in," he heard a faint voice say.

He pushed the door open.

Nancy was lying on the floor, near the foot of the bed. She was staring up at the ceiling, her eyes observing the pattern. Her eyes would droop close, but would shoot open. It looked as if Nancy was forcing her tired eyes to remain alert.

"Hey, Nancy," Joe said.

She turned her head to look at him. She sat up, nodding in response. She patted the space beside her. He placed himself next to her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"You know I called you for a reason, right?" Nancy said.

"Right," he replied. "But why, you haven't told me."

Nancy sighed, suddenly looking exhausted. She opened her mouth. Without saying something, she closed it. She opened it again. Then closed it. She opened her mouth, and began: "Sometimes, the thought of losing Frank haunted me before we got married. We were nineteen when we decided to marry. Now we are twenty and married. I used to think accepting Frank is a mistake. I thought this because we were teenagers in love, and this type of love dies down as soon as the spark is gone."

Joe listened to her every word attentively. He didn't speak, because he knew there was more to come.

"Dad said to me the same thing once. But now that I realize that yes, our love isn't that stupid teen love, and now that I have fought my fears, why does everything have to fall out of place?" Nancy closed her eyes slowly.

He didn't make a sound. He waited for her to continue.

"Why does Frank have to leave me?" she gasped. He frowned. What did she mean?

She opened her eyes. The tears came pouring out. She wiped them with her hands.

He didn't know what to say. She was stressed out, that was for sure. Sleep helped him when he was stressed out. And he was going to apply the same formula on Nancy. "Nancy, go lie down." He didn't care, she needed to rest.

"I can't," she choked out.

"Yes you can. Now go and rest. I'll handle everything," he assured her.

"That's why I called you," Nancy grinned.

Joe stood up and gave her his hand. She took it and got up. Seconds later, she was under the warmth of the comforter.

He put his hand on her head affectionately.

"I still haven't forgiven you," she reminded him.

He just smiled at her. He pulled the curtains close, blocking the sunlight. He was walking out when he realized he didn't know what exactly he was about to "handle". "Hey Nancy, you didn't tell me what his 'leaving you' means. What _does_ it mean?" His voice was hesitant, unsure. But now that he had asked her, he had to wait for what was to come.

He waited. But no answer came to the question that still hung in the air. And the air couldn't bear it. The air he was _breathing_ in couldn't bear it.

There was silence.

And there was a reason behind that silence. And that reason didn't let the air he was inhaling carry that question. Because the question he asked had an even worse answer.

It was a confusing silence. It was an uncertain silence. It was a nervous silence. It was a heavy silence. It was a terrifying silence. It was an unbearable silence. It was a piercing silence. Confusing and uncertain and nervous and heavy and terrifying and unbearable and piercing…

It was a questionable silence.

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**This was sort of a filler-chapter. (But, it is longer than the one I wrote before.) There has been so much going on that I didn't have enough time to think about it. The nearing exams might be one of the problems.**

**Also, I would like to thank my dear reviewers for their encouragement. I hope you will continue reading and enjoying this. :)**

**Don't forget to share your opinion! ;)**


	3. Answers

Chapter # 3: _Answers_

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_6th November, 2012:_

Joe couldn't handle it. He wanted to get out. He _needed_ to get out. Get out and go where he wanted to go. Go where he _needed _to go. He hastily tried to turn the door knob. His sweaty hand offered no friction against the knob. It slipped. He tried again. It slipped.

Tried again. It slipped.

Tried again. It slipped.

And again. It _slipped_.

_And again. It slipped_.

He was nearing the frustrating stage that compelled him to tear the knob off of the door.

"Joe," he heard a soft voice behind him. A small hand touched his shoulder. "Stop." He looked back at her with tears of defeat in his eyes. "Stop," she said again.

"Why?" He paused. "Why should I? I am here for this purpose, right?" She moved her head in a way that was something between a nod and a shake. That was all he wanted to see; it was a convincing answer. He pushed the door back hard and ran towards the stairs. He heard the door shutting loudly behind him. He stumbled as he tried to run. His feet made loud noises as they made contact with the floor. It felt as if his heart was beating in his ears. The pounding was so loud. He stumbled again.

"Joe, stop!" He was in a state that even the world couldn't stop him whatever it did. But who would have known that Nancy's pleading voice could stop him. "Stop."

"What is wrong with you, Nancy?" Joe asked as he whirled around to face her. "What do you want. Tell me! And I swear to God I'll –"

"I want what I told you I want before. I don't want you to go because you are angry. You aren't cool and calm. It won't help you." She pressed her lips together tightly.

"I thought you were going to tell me something informative," he chuckled humorlessly. He waggled his index finger at Nancy. "Look, Nan, this 'compose yourself and then deal with situations' is you and your husband's way" – he pushed her back by poking his finger on her shoulder – "and it is helpful for you _and you_ only. But my ways are different, so don't even try to calm me down." After saying this, he stomped off, leaving Nancy stunned.

He exited the house, muttering. He felt his anger again. He wanted to run. But he wanted to crawl in a snail's pace, as well. He wanted everything to move speedily forward. But he wanted everything to stop, as well. He was walking in a fast pace as these thoughts ran in his head. He was gasping for air. His posture told he meant business. The place he had in mind was the place he would find that person he had to deal with.

* * *

"Nancy told me," Joe announced.

Frank looked up in surprise. "I didn't see you there." He either ignored Joe's words, or didn't hear them.

"I didn't expect you to. It was supposed to be a surprise." He smiled.

"How did you know I will be here?"

Joe looked around. His eyes ran over tall trees, lush green grass, and a swing. His eyes became unfocused. Then, they finally settled on Frank.

After a long silence, he spoke up, "We grew up together. Why wouldn't I know?"

Birds chirped some distance away. He sat down on the bench next to Frank.

"I don't know why you are here. Care to explain?" Frank said.

"I don't think anything needs explanation. And you know that." Joe didn't know where his burning mood had gone. It was there just a second ago. But when he saw Frank's slumped body, he softened, as far as he could remember.

"Honestly, I don't know what you are talking about."

Joe nodded slowly. "You don't? You need to stop lying and start telling the truth," he said.

"I am not lying. I am saying what's on my mind." Frank rubbed his face with his hands. "You don't wanna believe it, then don't."

"You are wrong. I want to believe what you are saying is true. Because, well, I don't want _that_ to happen."

"Joe, can't you be direct?"

Joe took a deep breath and clenched his teeth. "Look, Frank. I know you are hiding something. I don't know what it is, as much as I hate to say this; so tell me what is going on?" He was serious now. A soft, cold breeze ruffled his golden hair. He rested his back against the backrest of the bench.

"Didn't Nancy tell you?" Frank asked.

"She did. But I want to hear it from you, Frank. I was mad and frightened when she told me what you are getting yourself into. And the reason I came here was to punch you in the face and kick some sense into you. But that would have been violent, no? So, I thought it was better to hear you out first and then deal with everything." Joe was telling a lie. He didn't want to listen to Frank's side of story, and never planned to. He got all emotional when he saw his brother defeated.

Frank snorted as he breathed out. "I am surprised. You, Joe, _you _actually made a decision with your brain. That's unbelievable _and_ unrealistic. And you and I both know that you are lying."

"Aw, Frank. Can't you just admit that I am capable enough?" Joe wanted to say. Instead, he waved his hand, dismissing the topic.

"So, where were we?" he asked himself.

"You wanted to listen to my side of story," Frank reminded him.

"Oh, yeah. So, what is it?" he asked.

Frank began.

After listening to Frank for a good fifteen minutes, Joe thought it would have been a better option to punch Frank in the face and kick some sense into him. That, surely, wouldn't have been a waste of time.

* * *

"And here we are," Joe said. They were now standing in the porch, waiting for Nancy to open the door.

The door opened. But there was one thing missing: Nancy. She disappeared after unlocking the door.

"Where is your wife and why isn't she here greeting us?" Joe said to Frank.

"You _know_ why," said Frank. "I am going upstairs."

Joe looked at Frank as he climbed the stairs. Rubbing his eyes, he went to the kitchen, where a sight of a distressed Nancy greeted him. She was leaning against the counter, playing with her red hair.

He cleared his throat. She looked up suddenly. "You scared me," she told him.

"I am sorry," he apologized. She nodded weakly and looked down.

"Nancy, stop worrying, okay. I'll handle this." She looked up at him and tried to smile, but failed despairingly. She tried again, and finally did smile, but it was a fake one.

Joe leaned forward to take her hand. He squeezed it. He expected a squeeze in return but was surprised to receive a hug instead.

"I didn't give you a hug this morning like I usually do," she said.

"Yeah," he whispered, relishing the warmth he felt.

She unwound her arms from his neck after a few seconds. He stepped back a little for space.

"Go."

* * *

"Frank, I think I should go," Joe said to his brother, who was packing his bag, preparing to leave the following day.

"No. It is not safe," Frank said. He folded a shirt neatly and placed it in a duffel bag.

Joe was entrusted by Nancy to do anything to stop Frank from going away. He didn't want to let her down. And he didn't want Frank to leave. So he prepared himself to do everything in his power to stop Frank.

"I think that is the reason I am asking you not to go, Mister."

"And I think that is the reason I am not letting you go."

"Oh, please," Joe sighed. He was frustrated. Why couldn't his brother just listen to him?

"Frank, you are the stubbornest person I have ever had the misfortune to meet!" Joe cried out in exasperation.

Frank chuckled at his outburst. "Wow. Now I am the 'stubbornest' person. I remember, a few minutes ago you called me an in–"

"Intolerable know-it-all," Joe completed for him. "Which you are, by the way." Frank simply rolled his eyes and continued stuffing his bag.

"I am so unlucky," Joe uttered.

"And why is that?" Frank wanted to know, though he already knew what Joe was on about.

"Because," Joe said in it-is-obvious-to-the-world tone, "I have you, of all people, as a brother!"

"Ah, Joe! You've gotta be kidding me." Frank shook his head. "Still, you have to admit that deep down inside, you consider yourself lucky to have me as your brother." He nodded knowingly.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Trust Frank Hardy to state the obvious."

The easy atmosphere fell as soon as it had come. It was as if coldness had been replaced by warmth momentarily, and again that coldness had enveloped them. Frank grew serious, and touched the subject he didn't want to talk about, but had to, unfortunately for him.

"Look, Joe, you are my brother – my little brother. I can't let you face this danger."

Joe shook his head at that. What was wrong with Frank? Why couldn't he understand that Joe was trying to help him?

"But aren't you my brother, Frank? Or do you think that only big brothers can face dangers, and little brothers can't because it's the duty of the big brother to look after his little brother? Frank, I care about you too. You can't do this to yourself. I can't let you do –"

"Yes, you can!" Frank cut in. "I need to do this, don't you see? They are threatening me, not you! They are after me, not you!"

Joe looked up at the ceiling. Frank was right. They weren't hunting Joe; Frank was their prey.

But Joe couldn't just let his brother risk his life.

"Frank, this is all about you. I admit it, okay, I admit it." He paused, sifting through excuses.

"But what about us? What about your new family?" Joe questioned.

"What do you mean?"

"Frank, have you forgotten that you are married? Or do I have to remind you?" Joe asked him in incredulity. "Have you even thought about Nancy? If something bad happens to you (God forbid), do you think she will be able to cope with it?" _Do you think I will be able to cope with it?_ he added silently. But he knew Frank wouldn't hear a word of it. Frank would say something like, "Please, for me." And Joe knew that he would be ready to let him go. He couldn't ever bear his entreating eyes. So mentioning Nancy was a perfect reason. It was a perfect reason for Frank not to go. And a perfect way for Joe to hide his desperation.

"Frank, I don't think this is the right decision, I don't think you should go," Joe said.

Frank nodded his head slowly, staring out of the window with unseeing eyes, deep in thought. His features were etched with concern and he frowned.

Joe tapped his foot against the floorboard, waiting patiently (which seldom happens, he told himself proudly). It seemed that mentioning Nancy had worked. Maybe, just maybe, Frank will back out and leave the situation in Joe's hands. He was just so tired, so exhausted being the one who needed to be saved almost every time in every case. It seemed as if he was entirely dependent on his brother. He wanted to do something for Frank this time. He wanted to save Frank. Not the other way round. Joe wanted to repay his brother for all he had done for him. He will –

Frank nodded his head. "You are right." He paused, and the rest of the statement was left incomplete.

The world stopped. Joe was bursting with impatience. Did this mean that Frank was finally realizing that he was being pointless and that his decision was wrong and rash (in Joe's eyes)? Or was he, unluckily so, still sticking to his decision? Because Frank had paused, meaning he still had to complete his statement. Right now, Joe didn't know what to expect, really.

So Joe prepared himself. He did what he thought wouldn't disappoint him: he didn't get his hopes up. He wouldn't let them rise and fall with a deafening _blow!_ He kept them in place. He knew he was balanced – balanced to accept the best or the worst. Joe Hardy had managed to balance himself. He wasn't going to fall, or even tilt to the other side if the decision was against his wishes; and he also wasn't going to jump with joy if everything decided to support his wishes. He would stay where he was standing. And he would _not lose his stability_.

* * *

**I changed the summary. Twice. Why? Because I suck at summaries and had to change the summary so it could be better. The plot is the same.**

**Was this chapter rushed? Forgive me if it was. I was just too sleepy to reread it properly.**

**Did this chapter answer your questions? Of course it answered _some_ of them. If you are confused, go ahead and ask. But it will be better to remain patient and wait for the future chapters. (I have this feeling that some of you might have guessed what is going to happen, so I don't think there will be any cases related to confusion.)**


	4. Departure

**Oh my! I updated a bit too soon, didn't I? Thank you for your reviews. :)**

* * *

Chapter # 4: _Departure_

* * *

_23rd November, 2012:_

Joe seated himself on the floor of Frank's room. He was feeling sluggish. Maybe that long sleep didn't do its magic after all. He wanted to go to sleep, but something wasn't letting him do that. Something was injecting fear into him. A fear of waking up with nothing changed. He couldn't fight that fear with his absent, fatigued mind.

Nancy was still in a bottomless, peaceful slumber. She was facing the wall and was curled up in a ball, shivering. Joe noticed that just now. He laid an extra blanket over her. But her body still didn't stop shuddering. Joe closed the window, hoping it would help Nancy's shivering to stop.

But it didn't.

Joe thought she needed warmth. What could he do? He didn't know why she was shaking like that. It was warm inside the house. Yeah, he knew it was November, which meant cold, but it wasn't that cold.

… But Joe didn't know why he had this sudden urge to lie next to her and keep her warm…

He quickly shook this thought out of his head. He wanted to feel close to Frank, but Nancy had Frank's bed occupied. She was small in size, so there was enough space to fit him. (Yeah, that was the reason he wanted to lie next to her.)

He mentally shook himself and went to his room. He tried to sleep, but failed. He needed to stop worrying about Nancy. He needed to stop thinking about her. _Maybe when I'll sleep in Frank's room I will be able to stop._ He grabbed a pillow and a blanket. He opened his cupboard and adjusted a fold mattress under his arm. He walked towards the bathroom door, struggling to keep everything under his grip. He reached forward and pushed the knob by his elbow. He kicked the door open, pulling it close with the help of his foot. He faced some difficulty handling the load he was carrying, but reached the room with everything successfully in his grip.

Few minutes passed. Joe stood up, admiring his handiwork. He pulled back the covers and lay down.

But, after all he did, hoping to get rid of the thought, he couldn't.

_His mind was still stuck thinking about Nancy._

* * *

_6th November, 2012:_

_"You are right."_

These three words bounced on the walls, echoing. The long silence was pierced by Frank's next words: "But that won't stop me."

And the world started to move again. And Joe didn't burst with impatience. And Joe did get his hopes up. And he couldn't keep them in place; he let them rise and fall with a deafening _blow!_ And he didn't get the chance to jump with joy because nothing supported his wishes. And he knew he wasn't balanced – balanced to accept the worst. And Joe Hardy managed to unbalance himself. And he tilted to the other side and fell. And he didn't stay where he was standing. And _he lost his stability_.

And he was stuttering.

"Listen, Frank. Y-You can't d-do this. You won't. It is not, no – it is insane. You just can't desert your family like that –"

"I am not deserting you guys, Joe."

"But you are! You-You are!"

"I am not deserting you, I am leaving you. There's a difference, Joe, there's a difference." Frank said this as calmly as he could.

Joe's eyes filled with tears. He grabbed Frank by the shoulders.

Frank sighed. "Joe, please don't cry."

Joe hastily wiped a tear and said, "Frank, you stay here. I'll go – I'll go and act as if I am you. I will be Frank Hardy. I'll do everything in my power to stop this" – he gestured helplessly – "all… Everything…"

"That is impossible. Think about it: how can you act like me? They'll see the difference, sooner or later."

Joe searched for ways in his mind that would convince his brother –

Then something struck him. They did this every time. He knew that Frank wouldn't reject it.

"Then as a team," Joe said with growing determination.

"Huh?" Frank's response was dubious.

"We can go as a team, I mean," Joe clarified.

"I don't think so."

"Why? We do everything together. We solve every case together. We are the Hardy Boys, Frank. We are nothing without each other. It's our – it's our thing," added Joe. _  
_

Frank looked at Joe with an unreadable expression on his face. Frank disappeared into the bathroom and came out with a toothbrush in his hand. He unzipped a small pocket in the bag and put the toothbrush in it. Joe knew that when Frank displayed these actions, he was considering Joe's offer.

Joe waited expectantly for Frank's answer. They would work as a team again. Yes. At least Joe would be of help.

"Not this time, Joe," Frank stated.

What was his brother saying? _Does he even know what he is saying?_ His brother couldn't have possibly lost his mind entirely, right? No, Frank hadn't lost his mind. _So I have to make another attempt to convince my impossible-to-convince brother._

"No, Frank. Don't do this to yourself. You need someone with you in this situation; I will be that someone," Joe pleaded.

"Stop it, Joe!" Frank sternly said. "I have made up my mind now! Don't do anything to change it!"

Joe looked down at the floor. Frank was being hard. That was unfair.

"I will do everything to change it!" Joe suddenly said.

"Whatever you do, Joe, I will stick to my decision no matter what."

Joe thought that it was better to leave Frank alone for some time. They would talk. _Later._

He exhaled loudly in defeat. "What about you and Nancy?" (_Where did it come from?_ Joe wondered. He didn't know where it had come from, but it just came out.) "I know this decision is hard for you because you have to leave her. And it's hard for her to –"

"That's," Frank said, pointing his finger at him, "none of your concern." He wouldn't fall in Joe's traps so that he would stay and Joe could take his place.

"Oh," was Joe's dry reply. He was hurt by the way Frank had responded. Even though he had been using Nancy as an excuse before, he was concerned about her when he had mentioned her seconds before. _But why, all of a sudden, am I worried about her so much?_

This confused him even further.

* * *

_23rd November, 2012:_

Joe's eyes shot open. He was dreaming about the most painful decision he had to make. And the dream was so vivid, it felt as if he were sucked into the past again.

He changed his position, now facing the wall.

_Frank and Joe. Joe and Frank. Frank and Joe Hardy. Joe and Frank Hardy. Frank Hardy._

Joe faced the painful reality, thinking how empty it sounded to say _Frank _without _Joe_. And how empty it sounded to say, "Joe." Just _Joe_. No _Frank.__  
_

_Joe and… No. It's just Joe. Just Joe Hardy._

Joe shut his eyes firmly. When he opened them, everything was hazy. He had to blink a few times to see clearly.

The lamp was still switched on. He looked at the clock. It was eleven in the night. He had been sleeping for three hours.

He clearly remembered that it was the exact time, the exact hour, when Frank came to the conclusion that he had to go. _He went and changed everything, didn't he? I didn't know that Frank could have been this senseless_, he thought miserably.

* * *

_7th November, 2012:_

Frank was leaving.

Unsurprisingly, Joe did "everything to change" Frank's "made up mind"; and unsurprisingly, Frank's "made up mind" didn't "change" its plans.

So, unsurprisingly, Frank was leaving. And Joe was standing a good five feet away from him, and he was, unsurprisingly, beating himself up for his failure, and unsurprisingly, still hoping that Frank wouldn't go.

Nancy kissed her husband and hugged him tightly for a stretched time. Joe was watching them wordlessly. Then Frank's eyes met his. Frank released Nancy and walked towards him. He opened his arms wide. Joe first thought to decline the offer and to just nod in his direction so that he would know how angry he was at him. He wanted to be stubborn. He wanted to be immature. He wanted to stomp his foot hard on the ground so that it would crush beneath him. He wanted act like a _child_.

But he didn't do any of the above. He fell in his arms eagerly. He ran into them. Against his wishes… No, against his anger.

They shared a loving, brotherly embrace.

"Joe, take care," Frank whispered in his ear.

Joe nodded, though he couldn't imagine that how in the world he was going to take care of himself.

"You too," he said, pulling out of his brother's arms.

Frank talked to him for about a few minutes. A talk that he wouldn't forget. But the most meaningful thing said by Frank to Joe was something hard to ignore and forget: "Joe, I will never leave you. Always remember that."

Then Frank walked away. Joe looked at his brother. He was a dark figure when the sun shone brightly on his front. He pecked Nancy's cheek and approached the cab. He didn't let Joe drop him off at the airport; maybe because Joe wouldn't stop begging in attempts to change his mind.

And, surprisingly, Frank left.

* * *

_9th November, 2012:_

"Go _away_," Nancy said.

"I'm not going anywhere," Joe firmly stated.

Joe went straight home after Frank left two days before. Now that he had managed to control his emotions, his first thought was to visit Nancy.

He was in the doorway now, wanting to get inside, but Nancy was pushing him away.

"You are," she said, her voice hoarse, "because I said so."

"What has gotten into you, girl?" Joe asked, squinting at her.

"Nothing," she replied. "Now go!"

She pushed him. He tripped. But he rooted one foot on the ground, stopping his fall. She hit him, punched him, and went as far as kicking him. Her punches weren't hurting him, because they were weak. And he didn't do anything to stop it, thinking it was good for her to let out her emotions. She raised her hand, intending to slap his face, but failed.

What was she doing?

"I'm sorry," she said.

Joe just shook his head. He frowned. "Nancy, I know you are hurt. I am as well. It is not my fault that Frank left. I did everything I could. But he can be stubborn if he wants to, you know."

"I know." The corners of her mouth twitched. They curved up slightly. He was taken aback. She was… smiling?

Joe had no choice but to smile back.

* * *

_23rd November, 2012:_

Joe remembered feeling something deep inside. He remembered feeling something that told him that something was going to go wrong when Frank left them. And he now wished that he should have stopped Frank then and there. But the past was the past.

Frank's words came back full-force: "Joe, I will never leave you. Always remember that…" He knew that Frank wouldn't lie to him – not to his little brother. Joe knew that it was all a lie. Frank's death was a lie. Wasn't it? _Wasn't_ it? _Wasn't it?_

But what if it was a lie? What if it was –?

_No! He wouldn't think about that! No! But just suppose it was a lie?_ Joe thought.

And his tears flowed freely. Tears of shame. What shame? Shame for even doubting his brother's words. He felt shame for even assuming for a second that his brother would lie to him, his little brother. He was ashamed.

Joe tried to hold back a sob. But it still freed itself from his strong hold. And he was now hiccuping. He held on to his pillow tightly. He didn't _want_ to cry. He _didn't_ want to cry. He didn't want to _cry_.

He tried to stop himself, to compose himself, but the tears wouldn't rest. He unintentionally woke Nancy up.

Nancy's woke up to sounds of sobbing. She turned around. Tilting her head, she looked at Joe's shaking form.

"Joe," she mumbled, sitting up. _What is he doing here?_ she wondered. But her query evaporated when she heard Joe sniffle.

Joe turned around swiftly and met her sleep filled eyes with his surprised cerulean ones, which were red and puffy. He sniffled again.

Nancy thought of various things that would have made Joe cry like that. Joe didn't cry without a purpose. (_Nobody does, you idiot,_ she chided herself.) Sure he was emotional, but that didn't mean that he would cry due to the smallest of reasons. A nightmare could have made him cry like that. Nancy quickly removed that thought from her head. She thought of other various reasons. Then it struck her. How could she have forgotten? _Frank._ Frank was no more: he wasn't alive. He was gone forever. _Forever._ The word echoed in her head, mocking her.

"You don't have to hold back. It's okay to cry," Nancy told him gently, with a broken voice. It was as if she was convincing herself (that it was okay to cry), not him (and it was true).

Joe looked in her sincere eyes. His lower lip trembled. He bit it so it would stop. _I can't believe I am doing this. I won't cry. I am a strong person and I won't cry. I won't cry for losing Frank, no. Because he said he wouldn't leave me, he said so. I will not break down. I am not weak. And Frank is somewhere out there. He'll come back for me. But_ when_?_

He didn't know the answer to that question. But Joe should know, he _should_ know.

No. He shouldn't know. Because he _must_ know.

But he didn't know.

Tears blurred his vision. He sobbed. He stood up on his legs. His knees grew weak and he almost fell. He approached her and sat on the bed. He held her hand. She tugged at it. He fell in her arms. He rested his head on her lap and then buried it in her belly. He wept like he never wept before. But no, it was not for the death of Frank, because he didn't die. No. These cries were for his brother and himself. These cries were for the words Frank had said to him before leaving him. _He didn't leave me! He won't ever. He said so. He wouldn't lie. He is my brother, and I have to believe him._

Nancy ran one of her hands through his thick golden hair, and the other hand rubbed his back calmingly. Without realizing, she started crying with him. She brought her head down, pressing her cheek against his head. _Is it true?_ she questioned herself. _He can't be dead, can he? No, maybe they are mistaken. But what if they are not?_

Both had same thoughts running in their heads. Ifs and buts blurred their minds. They cried together. Cried for not understanding anything. And cried for the loss of someone so special – at least Nancy did.

Time passed and tears subsided.

Joe stopped sobbing. He lifted his head from Nancy's stomach to look at her. He touched his face. His hands came in contact with something. _Tear-stains. _Immediately, a red hue spread itself on his face, warming it in the process. _Embarrassment._ His face was red with _embarrassment_. He felt embarrassed for crying in front of Nancy (he was a guy, for goodness' sake!). He had revealed to her this side of him – this weak side. A side only Frank knew about.

"Nancy, I am sorry," he apologized.

Nancy rubbed off her tears rapidly and then she asked, "For what?"

"For crying all over you," he said, chuckling.

Nancy looked at him. _Is this something to apologize for? _she wondered. But she thought it better to answer him instead of staring at him. Her stare was making him uneasy, if she wasn't wrong. "Well, wasn't I in your place a few hours ago, crying my eyes out on your shoulder?"

"You were. I guess it was my turn to cry my eyes out on your… stomach."

Both looked at her damp shirt, which was sticking to her skin. Joe looked up at her, slight amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Serves you right, Nan. My shirt stuck to my shoulder, and the feeling was unbearable," Joe made an attempt at cracking a joke, trying to break the hollow silence with something. _Anything._

"You and your exaggeration, Joe." Nancy shook her head disbelievingly. A small smile was dancing on her lips. Then it didn't dance on her lips anymore. The worn-out look in her eyes returned. She drew in and out a few sharp, deep breaths.

Nancy placed her head on the headboard. She ensconced herself more comfortably in the bed.

Joe yawned and stretched his arms out, accidentally hitting Nancy lightly on her shoulder with his right arm. Nancy turned her head so she could inspect him closely: the movements he made were inactive. And his body was almost limp: the bed had to hold all his body-weight. He was in a desperate need of rest.

"You should sleep," she said.

"You're right. I should," he agreed.

Nancy squeezed his hand in an assuring way. She wanted him to know that everything would be all right. Joe repeated the same gesture. "Good night."

Nancy switched off the lamp. Joe got up from the bed, and lay down on the mattress.

Nancy closed her eyes, absorbing the silence. Her running thoughts stopped as they ended up at the same question that had popped up in her mind a while ago: what was he doing here?

"Why are you here?" Nancy inquired. It was a bit abrupt. She felt that Joe will ignore its abruptness. And ignore was what he did. But not in the way she thought he would.

Joe had drowned himself deep in his thoughts. Endless melancholic thoughts. He couldn't hear. He couldn't see. He couldn't move. He couldn't… He just _couldn't _do anything. Except think.

"Joe?" Nancy attempted to grab his attention. "Joe?" But he didn't answer.

She frowned at him and got up from the bed. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder ambivalently. "Joe," she said again, only this time her voice was a bit louder.

He lifted his head and turned around a bit to look at her.

She caught her breath as she gazed in his eyes. She had an urge to look away but she stood her ground. He was… lost? Her fingers stroked his face. Her moving fingers settled on his eyes, which Joe closed. Her fingers caressed his eyelids. Her instincts pushed her and she hugged him.

Joe's first reaction was to stiffen. But it was short-lived; as her warmth covered him entirely, his arms wrapped around her, following a mind of their own. He pulled her closer.

Nancy, suddenly perceiving the intimacy and the wrongness of the position, pulled back.

To say Joe was shocked would be an understatement. He looked at his hands to hide his hurt. _Why does it hurt?_

A conscious quietness engulfed them both.

Joe's voice reached her ears, travelling through the silence: "Nancy, I wanted to ask you something."

She looked at the outline of his figure reflected by the moonlight. "Go ahead," she encouraged.

"Do you believe that… that…" His voice drifted away. He gathered some words and attempted once again to ask her the question: "Do you honestly believe that F–" He bit his tongue. He didn't want ask her any further. He didn't know what her reaction would be. The last thing he wanted right then was to make Nancy cry – again. "Never mind," he quickly said. He just clamped his mouth shut.

Nancy said, "Okay," in an unsure manner and sat there for quite a while, confused.

A few minutes passed. Nancy sighed through her nose, and had just got up when Joe asked something from her yet again: "Could you stay with me until I fall asleep?" This time he was hardly conscious of what he was saying because his mind had half-entered the world of dreams. Nancy knew that he would fall asleep in a few seconds, so she thought it better to leave him alone. She took another step forward, and then: _"Please?"_

Maybe it was the way he said it – in a desperate tone of voice, used only when one needed comfort – that stopped Nancy in her tracks and, slowly, retrace her steps.

She sat on the edge of the mattress. Joe grasped her hand and pulled. She sat a bit nearer, but he pulled her even closer. Nancy, capitulating to his wish, stood up and sat down again nearer to him, her back slightly brushing against the wall.

He needed warmth and someone's presence beside him – presence of someone he knew. "Thank you," rolled off Joe's tongue inaudibly. Then Joe put an arm around her almost unconsciously and sighed contentedly. He slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

**This would have been a bit confusing if I didn't mention the date when such and such took place. I guess I will mention the dates in the future chapters, too. We were in the past in the second and third chapter. (I have edited them, including the first chapter. It's nothing big, I just mentioned the dates.) And we will again dive into it (the past) in the future chapters. I am afraid that you guys might be losing interest in this. I know it is a bit boring right now. But I will try my best at making it exciting. Most of the plot is still left. :)**

**And about the Nancy and Joe interactions. I simply can't resist! Joe might seem like a guy-that-is-after-his-brother's-wife in this chapter. If you haven't noticed, he had feelings for Nancy before as well, you need only squint. He is just confused about them.**

**Please review! Without feedback, I don't feel the need to post new chapters. Though I still do for the few people that are reading this (and also because I want to complete the story for my own satisfaction).**


	5. Reasons

**Here'****s the new chapter, everyone. It hasn't been that long, has it? ;P Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and added my story to their alerts list. All this really encouraged me. **

**Forgive my mistakes, if there are! :)**

* * *

Chapter # 5:_ Reasons_

* * *

_7th November, 2012:__  
_

Frank, finally being honest to himself, felt a bit guilty. He should have let Joe come with him. It would have been easier for him; he would have been in comfort knowing someone was there beside him. He should have let Nancy come with him. It would have been less hard for him; he would have been in comfort knowing someone was there to support him. But his protective side kicked these thoughts away. _What am I thinking? It is better this way. With Joe and Nancy safe, I will be much at ease. I shouldn't think such things._

He stared at the clouds that surrounded the plane, trying to clear his thoughts. He focused on the sensations he felt. His ears were blocked, he felt. He swallowed to hear better. He closed his eyes slowly, and chose a subject that fell in his list of dislikes: flying. He was flying. He was flying, and was more than 20,000 feet off the ground. He was… _flying_. He wasn't a fan of flying. He used to wonder (and was wondering right then), "Why does Joe find flying so amazing? So _exhilarating_? Doesn't he feel scared that he might fall?" But it was Joe he was thinking about; and Joe was someone else entirely. His imagination – no matter how far from logic – never ceased to amaze him.

Again the two people that meant the most to him became the center of his thoughts. Frank felt guilty for concealing a vital information from Joe; as for Nancy – she only cared about one thing: someone was hunting him down, and he had to stop it alone, just like he so mistakenly said, in _her_ eyes.

What he considered as history had succeeded to fall into step beside the present – and also beside the future. He had to change the way it walked, so that his present and his future were secure. He had to stop it before it got out of control. He didn't think it would, though. Because each case Frank had solved, always remained under _his _control.

But threats were threats, and this one was no less.

* * *

_9th November,_ _2012:_

Frank wandered aimlessly. He was walking where he walked two years before, when he was eighteen years old. He looked around. Everything was so familiar. The feel of the salty air – the smell of it. The waves crashing against the shore. The feel of the sand under and over his feet. The squawking, screeching and cawing of seagulls. But there was something lacking. And he was very well aware of that fact. And he was very well aware of the reasons.

_What am I even doing here? _he thought. He was in Florida. He was after someone. And that someone was after him. But it wasn't only him that person was after. He was also after someone else. But Frank managed it, like he mostly did. There was a part of him that regretted his decision. _I should have listened to Joe; I can't shake the feeling that he was right when he said I should stop fretting. _But that was only a _part _of him. Because _all_ of him sang a different song, another song, an opposing song. It was with _him_ and _himself_. So, the mourning part was defeated by the confident _all _of him.

Trouble found the Hardy Boys all the time, people said. That wasn't exactly true. They had time to enjoy what they had, and enjoy what they were. They had time to be themselves. They had time to be with their family. They had time. A lot of time. But it was nothing compared to _lucky _and _happy _people. Frank corrected the term, whispering, "Trouble finds us most of the times." And that time had been one of those. They had come here with light hearts, high spirits, and hopes to spend time for _fun_. They didn't expect a vacation to turn into something else altogether. They didn't expect trouble to attach itself to them. They didn't expect to be solving a case. They didn't expect to drop a catch. They didn't expect that they would trust others to handle the situation.

And after all that had occurred,_ Frank _didn't expect that the past would catch up.

* * *

_31st October, 2012:_

"Frank! Could you please check who's on the door?! I am busy here!" Nancy called out.

"All right, I will!" Frank called back. He closed the files hurriedly, causing the papers to fall gracefully on the floor. He smacked his forehead, and decided against cleaning the heap. He jogged down the stairs, and opened the door, panting heavily.

"Joe," he said, surprised.

"Frank," Joe replied. "I didn't expect this… _reaction_. You not happy to see me? Or did I choose the _perfect_ time to barge in?"

They stood staring at each other, unmoving.

"Should I leave?" Joe finally asked. "Because you don't want me here, it seems."

"No, no, no," said Frank, shaking his head, "it's not that. I was just… Come in."

"Thank God! I thought that you had forgotten me." Joe entered, gently pushing Frank aside. He inhaled deeply, and licked his lips hungrily. "What is my sister-in-law cooking?"

"All you care about is food, don't you?" said Frank, climbing the stairs. (He decided to clean up the mess he made in his room, or he wouldn't hear the end of it from Nancy.)

"You can't blame me! I am hungry!" Joe rubbed his stomach. He ran towards the kitchen, where Nancy was too occupied to notice his presence. He stood beside her, looking at her. Her bottom lip was under the unmerciful grasp of her teeth as she concentrated. Her eyebrows were furrowed, wrinkling her otherwise smooth forehead, which was covered in beads of sweat, damping it. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail, allowing strands of red hair to fall over her face. She blew on them occasionally. She stirred the-secret-food she was cooking. Joe was transfixed by the sight. An unconscious smile formed on his lips.

His daze was broken by Nancy, who turned around and bumped into him.

"What are you doing, Frank?" she said indignantly. "Can't you see I'm working…" She trailed off as soon as she looked up. She was surprised to find Joe looking at her with raised eyebrows instead of her husband.

"No wonder Frank needs a breather. Living with a woman like you must be a _hard _job," Joe observed. "For the first time in my life, I feel sorry for him."

Of course Joe didn't mean it. And of course Nancy knew it.

So, she simply disregarded him.

She looked at the clock. "Weren't you supposed to be here after fifteen minutes?"

"I know. I didn't have anything else to do so I came here to keep you company. Because from what I see, Frank has buried himself in the case files of his again."

"You're right," she sighed. She leaned against the kitchen counter, and looked at him. He nodded as he opened a kitchen cabinet, and excitedly said, "Cookies!"

"Do you know what those case files are about?" He took a bite out of a cookie and munched it.

She shook her head. "No, not exactly. He doesn't talk about it whenever I ask him. I only caught a glimpse once; it is something about art theft. But I could be wrong," she added.

He held out the jar in front of her, offering her cookies.

"You don't need to offer me, Joe: I can take one myself," she said, putting her hand in the jar, taking a cookie. They stopped talking. For some time, only the sound of crunching filled the air.

"Art theft. Hmm," Joe mused after a few seconds. "Well, there was this one time when Frank and I were eleven, and a fellow student lost his painting. We searched for it, and found out that it wasn't lost, after all. His teacher had it; the guy gave it to her. But that doesn't count, right?"

"No, it doesn't," Nancy responded.

"I don't know. We've solved so many cases that I can't really remember when it happened." Joe's frown deepened.

"Forget about it, Joe. Frank might just be thinking back to good memories," Nancy carelessly said.

Joe choked, and started coughing violently. His eyes started tearing up. "Water," he managed to say between coughs. Tears were sliding down his cheeks. Nancy, whose feet seemed to be rooted to the ground, finally reacted. She grabbed a glass and filled it with water. In her haste and nervousness, she spilled some of it. Joe almost snatched the glass from her, and slowly drank the water. As soon as he calmed down, his occasional coughs transferred into laughter.

"Y-You honestly believe that he is re-recalling g-good memories," he said through fits of laughter.

"Why are you laughing_?"_ Nancy asked, tilting her head slightly.

This only made him laugh harder. "You are asking me why I am l-laughing? You…" He couldn't say anything further. He put an arm over his stomach, which was hurting from laughing too much. Tears fell from his eyes. He couldn't stop.

"What's wrong with him?"

Nancy looked over her shoulder, and saw Frank standing near the entrance of the kitchen.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask him?" she suggested.

"Nah. It is better not to. Let's just wait and see," Frank said.

Nancy shrugged.

That was all the time required for Joe's laughter to die down.

"So," began Frank, "what was this all about?"

Joe started to answer him, but it wasn't intelligible, as chuckles ate most of his words.

"Never mind, Joe." Frank shook his head. "I invited you for a reason. So please, come with me, I need to talk to you."

Joe cast a questioning look at Nancy, who shook her head in reply, mouthing, "I don't know."

" 'kay," Joe said. "Lead the way, Sir."

* * *

Joe stared at Frank, who held a case file in both his hands. Joe shook his head vigorously, trying to understand. (He knew what was happening, but he thought he was imagining things, and didn't hear Frank right.) When he finally grasped the fact that he _did_ hear what Frank said correctly – and that he certainly _wasn't_ imagining things – he stopped shaking his head, and smacked his forehead lightly with his left hand. He rubbed his face – _hard _– with the same hand as he brought it down.

He sat himself down on the chair near the desk, facing the shelves. He looked around. In front him, wherever his eyes landed, they met with bookshelves lined against the wall. Fiction and Non-fiction. History, Geography, Religion, Poetry, Science. His eyes _hurt_. No, definitely not because of the books. No. Even though he didn't like to admit, he liked reading for knowledge. (_Liked_, not _loved_, like Frank.) When he looked at his left, his eyes beheld a bookshelf filled with _uncountable_ case files. That's why his eyes hurt.

"Don't tell me _we've_ solved hundreds of cases in four years." Joe looked up at Frank.

"Don't worry, Joe. These case files are not only ours. Nancy also brought hers from River Heights," Frank assured him. "But that's beside the point."

"I don't wanna talk 'bout it," Joe told Frank.

"Why?" Frank asked.

"I just don't."

"Joe, you do remember that this case one of the few cases in which we failed. We didn't fail exactly, but still."

"They must have solved it by now!" Joe argued.

"If they did, they would have told us by now. Detective Bert told me that they would inform either of us when the case would be solved! It has been two years now! But they couldn't do anything about it!"

"We did what we could do, Frank. Just leave it to them. We captured one of them, they will capture the second guy themselves."

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't understand, do you?"

"I do," Joe said. "I do understand. I understand that you promised that you would let him go if he gave us that stupid painting! But we got him! I know! I know he will be hunting us down now. If not him, then his brother surely will."

Frank was rendered speechless. "How did you know that?" he asked after a short while.

"He told me. Not exactly. When he was arrested, he was shouting and cursing at us; he was screaming that you broke his trust and blah, blah, blah," Joe explained.

"Oh."

"So, I guess that's why you want to find where his brother is."

"Yeah," Frank answered.

"But how will you? He might have run away."

"Oh, he hasn't." The way Frank spoke, it was obvious that he knew something Joe didn't. His eyes flashed, and his heart's deepest desire was to stop him before anything happened.

"And how do you know that?" Joe asked.

Frank sat on the desk. Joe changed the position of the chair he was sitting on so that he could face Frank, who was looking at his feet, as if it was the most interesting thing he ever came across. Frank didn't answer his question. But Joe decided to let it go as he listened. "You do know how confident I am when it comes to solving cases. I am proud of myself because I have solved so many of them, and have never failed in one. That's not entirely true. We have been wrong. Sometimes. And we have left some unsolved. But the local detectives and police managed it. I never expected this to happen. Ever. But I still think I can solve this. Luck has been on our side. It won't abandon us now."

But Joe completely disagreed. He wasn't smartest of the two, but these instincts, which were solely made for mysterious purposes, told him to think something else. But this time, his instincts weren't alone. They were supported by his brain.

And, for the first time after a long time, he thought about his reasoning. "Look, bro, you aren't looking at the danger. You aren't thinking properly. This guy… he's mad – _totally_ mad. He will stop at nothing to take revenge. _Nothing_. Mark my words. You will regret this. Let them take care of everything, okay. You stop fretting about it. Nancy gets worried, you know."

His brother didn't answer; he kept staring at his feet.

"I will take that as a yes," Joe said.

"Frank! Joe! Lunch is ready!" Nancy called from downstairs.

"Come on, Frank. Let's go," Joe said. "All this talk has had my poor stomach _begging_ for food. And you know that there is _no _part of me that begs."

Joe thought that Frank had forgotten about it. That he had forgotten about the case. That he had understood his reasoning. But he didn't realize that Frank was still planning to go; he didn't realize that Frank was doing this because there was a reason behind it – a really effective reason.

A reason that could change _everything_.

* * *

**I hope this chapter answered all your questions. But it must have raised some of them. Or one question, more like.**

**Now that you have read the chapter, it wouldn't hurt to spare a few seconds to tell me what you think. :) Constructive Criticism is always welcome. Flames are really funny. ;)**

**I need to go now! I have to go and watch football (soccer)! Oh, Messi, please work some of that magic! Bye! :D**


	6. Threats and Past

**I am grateful for the reviews I got. Also, thanks for favoriting/following my story. I am sorry for not updating sooner. I was too busy hiking, and climbing mountains, and was too lazy to write. Boy, was it tiring! ;) I can't believe that it has been almost a month since I have started writing this chapter, and I didn't complete until now. Told ya, was too lazy. *yawns***

**I hope you will enjoy!  
**

* * *

Chapter # 6:_ Threats and Past_

* * *

_27th October, 2012:_

Frank stared blankly at the page that presented the cause of everything. He had an urge to tear the page, tear it to _pieces_. He didn't want to look at it. He wanted to remove the words written in it. He wanted to do something. _Something _that could erase his past. Something… _Anything…_

He and Nancy were in their room. He had drowned himself in something that had been taken care of by him and his brother, and had been marked as history. She was pacing, talking to her father, Carson, on her phone.

"Yes Dad, I am taking care of myself. I eat and sleep, no worries there." She paused to listen to him. "I… I know how I get when it comes to studies…" Then her expression turned to that of alarm (though she knew her father wouldn't do _that_). "_Dad_! Really, he _does_ take care of your 'baby girl'. You don't have to break his legs." As she said this, she looked at Frank. But he wasn't paying attention. Usually, when she was on the phone talking to her father, and Frank was around, she would find him smiling or chuckling when Carson would mention that he could _always _make Frank suffer for her. She felt something was wrong as she observed her husband. His body would tense, then relax. His hands would start quivering (in fear or anger, she didn't know), then they would be clenched tightly by Frank (to control his anger or frustration, she didn't know). "Dad… I need to go. I am sorry. I'll call you later. Love you." With that, she hung up.

She walked over to him, and sat down beside him. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she said, "Hey, is something wrong?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking about a case," he replied, looking into her concerned eyes.

"What case?" she asked, her voice taking a curious turn. She tried to sneak a peek at the file. Her eyes could only make out two words before Frank closed it, realizing what she was doing.

"It's nothing big," he answered quickly. He got up from the bed, grabbed his cell phone, and went away.

Frank looked at the door behind him, and sighed. It didn't feel right to hide it from Nancy. She was his wife.

He made his way to the study room he had specially made for Nancy and himself. He sat down on the chair near the desk that was mostly covered with different papers and books. Nancy's syllabus books. She was taking a Bachelor's degree in criminology, while he had taken up various subjects. He wanted to become a Private Investigator, just like his father. He then focused on the case at hand. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he thought about the case. His phone vibrated. It happened so suddenly that he nearly jumped out of his skin. Without checking who it was, he accepted the call. He didn't get to say a word, because the person on the other line started speaking:

"_Frank, this is Bert – Detective Bert._"

Frank instantly became restless. He didn't know what to say. "Er, how are you, Sir?"

"_Don't worry about me, I am fine. Think about yourself and Joseph._"

"What do you mean?" Frank didn't need to ask that question. He already knew the answer. But he needed confirmation.

"_That curator's brother left a note_." Bert paused.

"And?" Frank asked, desperate for answers.

"_He is after Joe, Frank. He is after you and him,_" Bert said painfully.

Frank was shocked. Disbelief weighed heavily on him. He tried to breathe in smoothly, but it was a shuddering breath he took. But it didn't take long for him to recover. He was a professional at turning the other cheek to his tormenting emotions. Unlike Joe, who let everything flood out of him.

Frank tried to produce a voice, but his throat was not helping him, since it wasn't allowing his voice to pass. "No. No, no, no, no, no. I thought he forgot about it. I thought…" He trailed off. His eyes felt wet. The tears were about to fall, but he blinked them away. He would _not _let emotions take over him.

"_Frank, son, you made a mistake. Now you have to stop him, all right._"

"You are wrong. It wasn't a mistake. It wasn't. I should have let him go. I should have let him go after he gave that painting. But _no_, I _had_ to get him punished." Frank hit his forehead repeatedly with his free hand as he said this.

"_Frank, you need to come. With Joe._"

"Not with Joe, Bert. I can't put him in danger. I won't _–_ he is my…" Frank left his statement unfinished, because his voice was shattering. His throat was constricted.

"_Frank. Hello? Are you still there?_" a voice asked. It was far away, really far.

Then Frank landed back on the ground. He stood with his back ramrod straight. He would do anything. For Joe. For Fenton. For Laura. For his Aunt. For himself. For Nancy. Because there was no telling how far that sick man would go for revenge.

"I am here, Bert." His voice was hoarse. His determination had died. It was as if it were years ago he felt that way. He didn't know how to carry the weight. It was foreign to him.

"_Call me after you decide_," Bert said, noticing Frank's emotional instability through his voice._  
_

Frank didn't answer, and Bert didn't need one. He hung up.

Frank stared at his phone as if blaming that lifeless device that it was because of its very existence everything took place.

* * *

_10th November, 2012:_

"You made a mistake, Frank," Detective Bert said. "Again."

They were here in a police station. The chief of the police was cold towards him. Frank couldn't blame him; he was also partly the reason everything was happening.

"I had to do something, Bert," Frank defended himself, "or else Joe would have been dragged into this situation."

"No, you are wrong. You could have at least told him what was going on."

"Yeah, and let him follow me. You think I am mad?" Frank snapped. He wasn't mad. And he most _certainly_ wasn't being emotional (as Bert pointed out before). He was a strong supporter of logic and reasoning. No, his decision was well thought out, and wasn't the least bit ruled by his emotions. _I am not like that, _Frank convinced himself.

"Did you know that you are imperfect without Joe, and he is imperfect without you?"

"Nobody is perfect," Frank mumbled. He put the case file as lightly as his displeasure would allow on the desk.

For the next few minutes Bert looked at Frank, and Frank looked at the case file.

"You know what's better?" Frank finally –_ finally _– asked, finding his voice again.

"What?" Bert asked back.

"It is better to _discuss the case_," Frank hissed.

Bert had never (well, they met two years ago, and didn't have the chance to meet until now) seen the kid _mad_. He would have understood if he were Joe.

"Okay." _It is better to remain safe_, Bert reasoned with himself. But it was pretty useless really, in Bert's eyes, because all they had done for the past two hours _was_ discuss the case. _And luck is really on our side today, because we haven't come up with even the smallest of things_, Bert thought sarcastically.

* * *

_12th November, 2012:_

Bert wasn't sure about what Frank wanted out of the case. It was simple: a psycho (_not really_, a voice said in his head) was after them.

The reason he was after them was _also _simple: The Hardy Boys had promised to let them escape after they gave them the painting. Dan would remain in prison for four more years, and then he would be released. They could wait, couldn't they?

_But psychos will remain psychos, even if the world ends_, he thought.

Dan and his brother, Sean, had a future. A really rich future. It was so easy. In their heads. And in reality as well.

"Grab that _particular work of art_, sell it to someone, get the money, buy the drugs, sell 'em, and voila! Hoards of money," the chief, Thomas, told Frank angrily. "We know what their plan was. And that is completely unrelated to the matter at hand. Why don't you stop it?! What we need to do is to start thinking about a plan that will stop Sean from killing you, you idiot! He will meet you near that building. We don't know if he wants to settle things, or shoot you in the head for good. I think he will do the latter," he added in a warning tone.

_Finally, someone who agrees with me._ Bert smiled a bit.

This crime – art theft – was a complicated thing. There was five to ten per cent chance of solving it. Dean had given Frank the art so that he could run away from prison. But who could have stopped Frank? He wanted justice, so he didn't keep his word.

_And now I understand why they say to never make a promise you can't keep, _Bert thought, looking at Frank.

"Then I will go alone," Frank said.

Thomas stared at Frank for a few seconds with wide eyes. "You insane?" A pause. "Ha. I was always right."

"I said I will go alone, because he wants me there alone." Frank looked serious.

"I know what to do," Bert finally intervened the two. "We will send two men with him. They won't be seen, of course. If that Sean decides to kill you, then the men will protect you."

"You make it look as if it's so easy," Frank said, rolling his eyes.

"We have got ten days to make this plan better. Why don't you shut up and co-operate," Thomas defended Bert's plan. Hearing this, Bert gasped. _Finally. Thought I would never see this beautiful day. _ He smiled for the second time that night.

* * *

_15th November, 2012:_

It happened years ago, and by then it is natural for a memory to be unclear, to be a bit of a blur. Frank's memory wasn't as clear as day, and he hadn't seen what had happened to Joe, but knew what had happened to him.

Everything started with danger.

_"If you call _that _art, then I think I will spend the rest of my life _hating_ art," Joe said to Frank in a low whisper so that their mother wouldn't be able to listen: he didn't want to hear a long lecture about the importance of art._

_"You don't understand the creativity behind it, Joe. Why do you hate this painting so much?" Frank looked at Joe questioningly._

_Joe sighed and cleared his throat, preparing for his answer. "Well, look at that painting_,"_ he said, pointing at a painting that showed Indians riding horses. Simple as it was, it still had an aura about it. Joe could only describe it as an aura that _screamed _that this was what art should be called. The colors were used by an intelligent and creative artist, that was for sure, because he blended the colors efficiently. The sky was painted grey and blue – a natural mix of both, it was. The sun he created was hiding behind the clouds that only let rays of light to pass through to hit the faces of the men. The mountains were like shadows, like the color of a shadow, just that a hint of green was added to them, signalling that there were a few trees present. Some of the horses had thrown their heads back, their mouths gaping. Joe imagined hearing their whinnying. The ground they trotted and cantered on was uneven. The Indians had their long hair tied up in braids, but some let them flow freely. The atmosphere the artist made wasn't gloomy, but it_ was _a bit close to that.__ "And then look at this one." This one wasn't special. It only showed a face of some famous person Joe _didn't _want to know about at all. "Now compare them both."_

_"Both are excellent, Joe," Frank said, observing the two paintings._

_"No, that's not true," Joe disagreed. As soon as he finished his statement, the lights went out. He looked around, puzzled. There must have been a problem with the supply of electricity. A hand landed on Joe's shoulder. He had to hold back a yelp._

_"You are here." So it was Frank's searching hand. _

_"Where are the others?" Joe whispered._

_"I should have told you that before. Mom, Dad, and Aunt Trudy are already gone."_

_"Why?" _

_Before Frank could answer, he was interrupted; _a person _– a man _–__ loudly asked, ___"What's going on?"_

_The lights were back quickly, as if trying to stop the answer that would come. The guards were confused. What was happening?_

_The curator appeared suddenly, apparently in a panicked state. He yelled, "Fire, fire!" That was enough to put everyone in action. People ran in a confused state towards the fire exit. The orange color the fire threw brightened the art gallery. The place was nearly empty. The security guards (who were looking around for people still there, and a few others were collecting the paintings, leaving with them), and two brothers were still there. _

_Then everything happened in five minutes._

_A piercing sound of a glass breaking echoed. Air hit Joe _– someone had run past him towards the dreaded sound. Joe, guessing what could happen, ran after the figure. Through the smoke and orange, Joe saw a tall, lean man trying to steal a painting. Joe reacted quickly, and so was able to slap away the man's wrist. Before Joe could dodge, a fist met his jaw. The security guard he had followed pulled out a gun, and pointed it at the man clad in black. "Stop." His voice was deep and it demanded obedience.__

__Joe, who was still stunned by the punch, looked up. Suddenly, there was a flash of black in front of him, and a strong hold was on his forearm. His neck was covered with a muscled arm. He tried to pull away. A cold and heavy thing pressed itself on his temple. Now his heart was pounding really fast. He was sweating. He tried to calm himself down. A gruff voice, which was close to his ear, said, "You want him to die?" Joe squirmed under his tight grip. __

__"Frank!" Joe yelled without thinking. The arm around his neck tightened its hold. Joe could hardly breathe. __

__"Shut up!" the man ordered Joe. "I asked you, man. You want him dead?"__

__ The guard hesitated. "Look, I will not do anything. Just let the guy go." The hand that held his pistol lowered to hang beside his thigh. For a strong man he appeared to be, he gave up easily. Maybe he had a plan up his sleeve.__

__"Joe, where are you?" a voice yelled. __

__"Frank!" Joe called out desperately. __

__The man holding him seemed to put down his defenses a bit after the guard assured him that he wouldn't injure him; he loosened his hold on Joe, and he slowly brought the gun down from Joe's temple. Joe's pounding heart slowed down, and his fast breathing turned into huge breaths of relief. The smoke harshly tickled his throat.__

__The man's moment of weakness was what the guard wanted. He raised his gun instantaneously.__

__And through the smoke and orange, and with an imperfect aim, he shot. __

__Blood soaked Joe's shirt as it ran freely over his chest, leaving red in its wake.__

* * *

__Frank was somewhere else.__

__He was following a creeping figure that had a gun in their hand. It was a man, certainly. Judging by the way he moved and his reaction to every small sound (even to the ones caused by himself), Frank understood that he was up to no good. The smoke made Frank's eyes watery. Frank slapped his hand over his mouth so that his cough could be inaudible. ____The sound of the slap forced the figure to look back. Frank crouched down and hid in a shadow to hide himself. ____His shoulders shook because of the force of his cough. His hand slipped away from his mouth accidentally, and the sound of his cough reached the ears of the one being followed. The figure looked back once again.__

__"A bad move," Frank breathed.__

__"Frank!" an all too familiar voice cried out just then. Frank didn't think twice like he usually did, and jumped out of the shadows, and ran towards the voice, not caring he could be shot or attacked from behind him by the mysterious man.__

__He ran as fast as he could, coughing all the way. Then he stopped far from where there were three people standing still.__

__"Joe! Where are you?" he asked.__

_"Frank!"_

__Frank didn't know where he was running; he couldn't see where he was running. All he could make out was a sound that sounded like a gunshot.__

* * *

__The guard's eyes widened, and his hand, once again, hung by his side. Everything was still until the man dropped Joe suddenly. The man's wrist was injured. He brought his hand up to his injured wrist, and gasped and moaned and writhed in pain. He __was then captured by two guards.____

__Frank finally reached where his brother was standing through the blurry air, and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. Joe, now out of shock, didn't protest, and hugged back.__

__From over Joe's shoulder, Frank saw the man he was following seconds before running away. Frank released Joe and ran after him. __

__He stopped to catch his breath. Realizing he was standing at the spot the mysterious figure had occupied when he had been following him a minute before going away for Joe, his head instinctively turned towards the right, and he saw something that knocked the air out of him:__

__A painting was missing.__

* * *

**I hope you liked this. I am not satisfied with it. I apologize if it wasn't interesting and all. I think it was a bit rushed in the end. The description of the painting was not good, I know. I am used to describing emotions mostly; I am not used to describing _things_. It is my first time writing such thing. There may be some wrong facts here somewhere, but I searched everything I could about art theft from different reliable sites, so I don't think I was wrong. Art theft is a bit complicated topic if you dive into its depth; it was for me at least. I don't even know why I chose it! Really, I hate myself sometimes!**

**I have got news as well: It would take long to update from now on. I don't think I will have free time because I will be locked up in my room so I can study. (Let's just hope I don't lie down on my bed and fall asleep instead of studying.) I will try to update as soon as I possibly can. School starts tomorrow, and I am happy and reluctant to go. Ba-bye, Vacations, and hell-o, School. *sobs and smiles***

**I hope you readers will share your opinions about this chapter. And tell me if there are any mistakes. Until next time!**


	7. Decisions

**Look who's back? I took too long, didn't I? I am really apologetic. I was losing inspiration for this story; initially, it was just a story with some consoling and all, but after thinking and rethinking, my idea and imagination got more complex, or more, I'd like to say, "Hyperactive," like something that is _extremely active to the point of disruption_. **

**Another thing for which I am going to apologize for is that this chapter won't be impressive; as I told you, I lost inspiration, so my heart wasn't in this as I wrote this chapter. And since I hate to leave things hanging...**

**Anyway, let's move on with the story.**

* * *

Chapter # 7:_ Decisions_

* * *

_15th November, 2012:_

And Frank had been right.

When he had seen the bare wall, his thoughts had immediately jumped to the conclusion that the painting had been stolen, though it also could have been thought that the painting was in safe hands.

Oh, how right he had been. The images flashed in breaks in his mind. Some were even irrelevant...

_"It's... It's gone," Frank breathed out._

_Joe caught up with him, his breathing ragged. "What's __– what's gone?" He looked confusedly at Frank, who stood frozen at his spot, and then at the wall his eyes were stuck on. He let out a small "oh" of realization. "But the guards have taken many paintings with them. So there's nothing –" He found himself in a coughing fit, and he said, "Let's get out of here before we die."_

_Seeing Frank's lack of response, Joe grabbed him by the arm, and ran out of the building. Outside, the sirens of the nearing help could be heard._

_Frank wanted to breathe in the fresh air, but his... __His lungs... He was __–... He__ couldn't breathe. He was suffocating. He couldn't _breathe_. Feeling the world revolve around him, he staggered back. And everything was suddenly hazy. And he felt his legs give out beneath him. He was about to collapse..._

_..._

_"Look, I came back. I came here, all right? So don't hurt me. I have to go. Just take it back, okay? Take the painting back... It was not a big deal for me, before. But I don't think spending my life in jail would be any adventure."_

_So, he had been looking for an adventure? That man still fought to ignore the situation's seriousness. _

_It was dark, and it was cold, and it was Frank's lucky time, when everything was bright, when everything was being easily wrapped up. The case he had become involved in wasn't something big __– it was just a theft... Just a theft._

_And the thief was standing in front of him, accepting his crime, apologizing, and... "But what about your brother?"_

_"My __–... I, er... How did you know?"_

_"I just learned from you: you mentioned him."_

_He was shocked at his own slip. Was he that nervous? Apparently, his disclosing of many things inadvertently told that. "Yeah, he... He wasn't involved in this. He just helped me. And, er, he is too busy in his life."_

_"Too busy selling drugs," Joe spoke up, as he stood beside Frank. The man's eyes went wide, he could see, though the area was almost dark. "His business was collapsing, wasn't it? And you thought that you should help him."_

_As Frank observed the speechless face of the man in front of him, he decided it was best to not force him to spill the beans __– though they (him, Joe, and others) already knew what was happening. The professionals would handle the rest. But he__ was still hesitant to get him arrested... He looked at his right at Joe, who was standing silently beside him, the shadows of the abandoned building concealing his figure a fraction._ _Seeing the outline of Joe's head slowly turn up and down, telling him to go on, he made his decision._

_He looked at the man before him, and__ breathed in, readying himself for what he was about to say. "All right, you can go," he heard himself lie. Just like that. It rolled off his tongue so easily, as if it were his profession __– lying._

_..._

_The man screamed, as loudly as he could, and he thrashed and he cursed and he threatened and he promised._

_And Frank listened silently, feeling pride swell inside him. His decision had not been bad, after all._

_ But he didn't know what he was dealing with. __And, frankly, he didn't care._

* * *

Joe opened the closet, and grabbed some clothes, stuffing them in his shoulder bag.

"Joe!" he heard his mom calling him. "Nancy's here!"

Now, what did she need?

Sighing, he threw the bag under his bed, and walked downstairs. He went towards the living room, and on a couch sat Nancy.

"Hey," she said.

He nodded, and sat down next to her. "What's wrong?"

Looking a little shocked, she started, "Why, Joe, aren't we a little impatient today?"

Rolling his eyes, he said, "To you, it might seem like it, but a guy has work, you know."

Confused, she asked, "What work? As far as I know, you're free for a few weeks until the break finishes."

"I have a social life."

Raising her brows as she formed a thin line with her lips, she said, "All right, then. Sorry for disturbing you. I just wanted to talk to you about Frank."

At his confused expression, she said, "Why don't we go in the yard?"

* * *

He looked at her as if she were a creature thrown from another dimension. "You... You..." He shook his head, and closed his eyes tightly. Opening them again, he continued, "You – you..." He shook his head quickly yet again. "_What_?"

Bringing her head down as an attempt to nod, she smiled. "Yup, you heard right."

Though he knew what led her to think this, he could not help but ask, "But why?" Her words echoed in his head: _I think we should go after Frank._

"Because," she began, her tone that of an adult explaining something to a child, "he might put himself in danger. I didn't know what was going on, and never meant to disturb Frank's privacy, so I never looked into the files."

"You _didn't _know? But what about now?"

Looking a little guilty, she hesitantly spoke, "I would have done this a long time ago like I usually do, but since I wasn't sure if I should look into whatever both you guys were hiding..." She paused and sighed. "Okay, so I might have read your precious, will-be-opened-only-by-the-two-of-us file."

Chuckling slightly, he said, "And you feel guilty about that. I saw this coming. I really can't believe that Nancy Drew, the nosy detective, would _not _open our case file because she _respected _our privacy! As far as I remember, you never had respect for_ anyone's _privacy."

Glaring at Joe slightly, she asked him, "So... Should we do it?"

"Of course, we should. You should have gotten this idea a long time ago!"

"What do you mean, I should have had this idea before?" she asked, clearly puzzled.

He smiled. "I was planning to go there. I booked a ticket yesterday."

"_What_?" She looked as if she wanted to kill him. "And you never cared to mention that to me?!"

As he fished through excuses, he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. "Because you were really tired," he tried.

"_What_?" she asked, incredulous.

"Emotionally!" he added, hastily.

She rolled her eyes. "You can't lie to save your life. I know you meant to go after Frank _unnoticed_."

He hushed her by putting a finger on his lips. "You don't want Mom to know. For all I know, she must be listening to our conversation," he whispered meaningfully.

"All right, all right, whatever you say," she humored him.

"So..." Joe began after some silence. "Are we going to wait another day?"

"Unfortunately," Nancy replied, "yes."

Rubbing a hand on his face, he said, "But you don't know what he would have done by then!" Though he knew this wasn't the entire reason why he didn't want her to leave with him. Composing himself, he tried again: "Listen, you stay, and I'll go, okay? Besides, Frank strictly told me to not let you go to him."

Hearing that, she looked surprised. "How... How could he have known?"

He widened his eyes. "We'll find the obvious answer to this mystery later. The point is, you stay, and I'll go."

She nodded slowly, and droned on, "And you expect _me_ – _Nancy_ _Drew –_ to sit here, and watch the show? Anyway, he never wanted you to go, too."

He knew she would react this way. "First, you're Nancy _Hardy _now, not Drew," he corrected, receiving a glare from Nancy. "Second, yes, I _do _want you to stay: it's best for you. And third, he never made me _promise _to not go after him."

_You try to go unnoticed because Frank didn't want me to go, and now that I know your plans, you decide it's "best" for me to stay back. And he told you to not come, too. _Her face flushed with anger. "You, Mister, don't have _any _right to decide what's right and what's wrong for me. I am coming with you, and that is that. _Otherwise_..."

To say he was used to an aggravated Nancy when she smoothly spoke in a calm yet admonitory manner would be a lie. But he could not break a promise he made to Frank. He could _not_. And nothing in the world – even Nancy, whom he gave in to every single, _accursed _time – could make him break that promise.

"Yeah, I _don't _have a right to tell you what's right and what's wrong – but I am your friend, and I will do what's best for you, whether you like it or not."

"_Otherwise_," she decided to complete her statement, squinting warningly, "I'll go without you."

Joe started clapping, slowly. "What a plan! You stick with it, I say. And I'll go. _Alone_," he didn't forget to add.

He stepped forward, towards the door of the back porch to leave, but Nancy grabbed his wrist, stopping him."Joe. You just can't _do _this. I... Let me come."

He turned around, and looked at her for a second. A part of him told him to allow her, but another part of him told him to stay back. Wind started to blow. It caught Nancy's red hair, and pressed it against her face. He noticed these things, but the thing forcing him to give in were the tears in her eyes. _No, Frank wanted me to not let her go to him. And I know how dangerous it will be – for her, even for me, but she is... _Reminding himself of the promise he made to Frank again and again, he managed to say, "No... I'm sorry, but you can't."

She looked unsurprised. She had known things would come to this. Why had she reduced to begging when she had been aware that the results would have been as expected. She didn't quite know if she would go by herself; nevertheless, she informed Joe of her unmade decision. "All right. I will go myself. After you leave, of course," she added to answer him, as he looked questioningly at her. "So that you won't be able to stop me."

He gulped, feeling uneasy. He didn't know if he could go on his own, now that he thought about it. But he couldn't sit still with the thought of Frank being in potential danger. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand from her grasp. His wrist somehow felt... _cold_, without her touch. He observed her facial expressions closely, and, at seeing that there was determination – which could be wavered, since there was present an absence of unfaltering surety in her eyes – he said, "Suit yourself."

With that said, he continued on his way, leaving a wounded Nancy behind.

* * *

_16th November, 2012:_

Joe couldn't sleep.

It was two a.m. in the morning, and he couldn't get tired of anything – even counting sheep. He vaguely remembered counting sheep in his childhood, whenever he would be tireless in the dead of the night, or badly scared of the dark. Dad taught him the trick, and it used to work. Now, it didn't.

Things were getting old – they had _become _old.

He was in his room, standing by the window, thinking these things.

He knew once he refused Nancy, he would feel guilty. Why would he feel as such? He didn't know. Maybe, it had to do with the fact that she _was _capable of dealing with dangerous situations thrown at her. Yes, this was the reason.

Maybe, he had been wrong to refuse her. He should have let her come. He could not leave, just like that. And, a part of him agreed to the fact that he lacked confidence. Confidence to go there alone. He was afraid of what he might see. He was getting this feeling in his gut...

Sighing, he decided that, firstly, he needed to leave a note. Just in case.

* * *

"Joe, you _do _realize that it is two thirty in the morning?! Why are you awake at this... early hour? And why did you come here?" Nancy couldn't stop with her questions, as soon as she had regained her initial shock.

He cleared his throat, and said, quite hurriedly for his liking, "Ithinkyoushouldcomewithme."

Nancy's mouth hung half open, but it opened fully, because she couldn't hold back a yawn. It looked rather funny on her surprised face. _Still _surprised face... Joe couldn't help but wonder, even when his mind was too preoccupied with dealing with his nervousness, how Nancy managed to keep up her shocked expression when she was _yawning_.

"_What_?"

_Things really are getting old_, Joe thought. _How many times did Nancy say "What?" in these few days? _ He wrung his hands. _I am acting like an old woman, wringing my hands like that. _He stopped after this realization, and, not to feel his hands were uselessly hanging by his sides, he put them on his hips. Frowning, he thought that this made him look like an angry, cute girl – which meant _ridiculous_, which meant no charm. He sighed, and tried to slowly say, as he took his right hand in his left one, "I think _you _should come with _me_ tomorrow."

Nancy's eyebrows shot up in shock, "_What_?"

_Oh, Dear Lord, _Joe thought once more, because the explaining part had come. And he was never good with explanations. _Where is Frank when you need him?_

"It's just that... I don't think I can go on without you, y'know. I mean, you were always good with an angry Frank. Not that I am not. I guess I am afraid, or I have grown dependent on someone else to help me solve things – _cases_, I mean, and you are perfect for that, aren't you? Because you are Nancy _Drew_, after all. I mean, _Hardy _– sorry for that –"

"Joe," Nancy interrupted his speech, "you sound like a nervous girl." And though he wasn't clear about anything he was saying, she understood what he was trying to say perfectly.

He smacked his forehead, and tried to come up with better words, though his mind was getting foggy, and he felt that if he put too much strain on it, he would _definitely _pass out, which he didn't want. He opened his mouth to say something without thinking (or he would collapse on the floor), but said something which he didn't think he would say (and why did he think he wouldn't say that, because he remembered he told himself to not think before he spoke?):

"Can I sleep on the couch?"

* * *

**Now, who would have thought that Joe Hardy, the lady's man, the charmer, could be nervous, and would reduce to rambling? Sorry for his OOC-ness. And everybody's OOC-ness, really. I am not good with characters, and since I haven't read the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew books for a long, _long _time, I have lost touch with their personalities a little. And whatever I have read about them, has been fanfiction, which takes their characters to a _whole_ new level.**

**Forgive me?**

**Many of you must be thinking about Joe's sudden exhaustion. He felt somewhat fresh before, because he wanted things off his chest, and when he did that, his exhaustion took over him. This happens.**

**Anyway, I hope that things are clear to you, by now; I hope you are not confused, because I might have just done that. Unintentionally, though. **

**Oh, and thanks to those who reviewed this story from the start. Also, a special thanks to those who are following and have favorited this story. It is good to know that people are waiting and liking this story. :)**

**Do not forget to share your thoughts. And if there were any places where I might have done a mistake, tell me.**

**God bless.**


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